Almost Human
by InfinitusX
Summary: He looked different, like this, tired and softer and almost human, and Near pitied him, though of course he would never let Mello know that. And the machines hooked to the boy on the bed kept beeping. That was about all they did. Alt.circ.fic.


**Almost Human**

Genre: drama/general

Characters: M, N, M

Pairing: ...probably

Disclaimer: don't own

Warnings: language, believability issues; ch. 99/ep. 35 spoilers. So basically the same as always.

Notes: You kind of have to assume that circumstances were altered. I don't really detail how, because that's not the important part here.

I've been fascinated with trying to establish a believable dynamic between the three Wammy's boys ever since I got into the fandom, which is partly why I wrote this from Near's point of view. It is not easy, which is probably why I tend to forget about him, which is a bad thing to do, because I honestly do rather like the kid, and he's such an integral part of the relationship. Bad fanwriter!

I did what I could to make it medically accurate in terms of length of the comatose state and typical recovery, but dammit it was hard to do that and make the story go the way I wanted, so I sort-of-incompletely scrapped it. Forgive me the sin of Making Shit Up.

Language/Style Note: Self-beta'ed as always. Third person limited.

-

When Near finally found time, after the case was done, to go to the hospital and check in on their unexpected patient acquisition, someone was already there. He sat like a king in the uncomfortable hospital chair, a black stain in the sterile white of the room, ruler of this place and master of the person lying silently on the bed.

"Mello," said Near from the doorway, watching as his old rival cracked a piece of chocolate off of an ever-present bar.

"Near," said Mello, coldly, back uncurling, proud and straight like the edge of a blade. Every atom of his being crackled with dislike, warning him away. But that was Mello, Near knew, and remained where he was, neither coming closer nor walking away. "Go away; you have no right to be here."

"I have as much right as you," Near said. "My men were the ones who brought him in, on my orders. And I too was a Wammy's boy - unless you'd forgotten."

"I wouldn't forget," Mello snapped. Near didn't think he would have. Mello's memory was excellent; once a thing was known, he would remember it like it was graven in stone in his head, and they'd been rivals long enough that that particular memory would be carved several feet deep and in letters as tall as he was. He did admire and respect Mello for his different capabilities, but too often the irascible young man, so full of bravado, antagonized him into saying things like that by his mere presence. "But that still gives you no right. You weren't his partner."

"I did more to save his life than you did," Near said coolly, and waited for Mello to explode as he turned slowly towards him. Near might not have been his partner, but once upon a time, he'd been friends with the person who had inhabited the broken body sharing the room with them. Mello had no right to assume that Near had no right and no reason to repay a debt of kindness long since forgotten by all but Near himself.

The machines beeped. That was about all they did, measuring the slow steady pulse and assisted breathing of the young man on the bed, not indicating any changes, just there, steady, constant. Near supposed it was a good thing, watching the little green lines spike, because until he'd asked to come in and see the young man, he hadn't been sure that he would actually even live. The doctors weren't sure if it was a coma or simply a state of extreme shock. Either way, he wasn't waking up and Near couldn't blame him.

He was covered in bandages, which covered stitches, which held together every bullet wound on his body - which was a lot. He'd been bloody and broken when they brought him in, a wreck of a man that Near had not, as such, hoped to save. His hair was a brilliant stain, like blood, against the pillow, even his head wrapped in bandages, his skin nearly as pale as the sheets.

Mello glared poison at Near, appeared to wrestle something in him into submission, and breathed. And turned back to the young man on the bed.

Number three, Matt - the same age as Near, there at the House for approximately the same length of time, but he was Mello's cohort always, after he'd arrived, his total opposite but drawn to him the way opposite poles of a magnet are drawn together. Number three, the expendable one. Or so Mello had always told Near, dismissively, and because it was Mello, Near had believed that he meant it. But then why was Mello here now, sitting as patiently as he knew how to at Matt's side? If he was expendable, Mello should have already gone on to find new lackeys. It was simple. It wasn't adding up.

"He was never actually expendable, was he," Near said, when the explosion did not come. "You only told me he was so that I would never see him as a threat. You were protecting him."

Mello's shoulders tightened, but he only said, imperiously: "If you have to see him, come back some other time. Preferably when I'm not here."

Near left. He was pretty sure he'd been right.

-

When Near walked in for the second time, two weeks later, Mello wasn't there, which meant that it was safe to stay for a little while without being either screamed at or shot at. He sat down in the chair by Matt's bedside, curled up, and watched him sleep. His chest rose and fell, assisted by machines, and there was something unnatural about it, as though he were watching a man already dead.

He was in a coma, the doctors had told him. It would help him heal, but he was in such a fragile state that they weren't sure if he would be able to wake up from it, even if his body repaired itself. Near had nodded, wondered if Mello knew. He probably did. Mello didn't like to be kept in the dark about anything.

Battered, bruised, broken, Matt's bandages covered the worst of the damage and made him look almost whole, less like a scarecrow man falling apart at the seams. Matt was a good kid. Lazy, far lazier than him and definitely Mello, but a good kid, loyal and even-tempered, a dead good shot with a gun, apathetic unless his games or a friend - usually Mello - was involved.

He hadn't deserved to be shot down like a sick dog in the middle of the streets. He hadn't deserved to be shot twelve times, to have eleven bullets surgically removed from his body, the twelfth having barely skimmed his left temple; any farther over, and Near would be sitting at a gravesite, not a hospital bed, and thinking that Matt hadn't deserved to die like that.

He still might die. But for now...

"You're lucky to be alive," he told Matt, though he knew he couldn't hear. He had no idea how lucky, not yet, anyhow. "You're lucky we came in time to give you a chance. And you're lucky that Mello likes you, or maybe you would already be dead."

"Get out of my chair," snapped a voice from the doorway, and then Mello was striding in, coffee in one hand, and yanking him out of the chair with his other. Near stumbled to his feet and aside. He wondered if Mello had heard him. Mello would not be pleased to hear that Near was analyzing his relationship with the comatose boy, regardless of the fact that Near still had a lot more that he could do with that.

"You've been here a lot," Near said. "Halle told me she's come a couple times to check up on the two of you."

"Out," Mello snapped. "Time's up." He settled firmly into the chair, expression forbidding and immovable. Mello was so very predictable, when it came to Near. Less so with everyone else. He sighed.

"Very well," said Near, and left again.

-

Two more weeks later, Near was stopped by a nurse on his way up to Matt's room.

"You're the boy who comes to see the coma patient," she said. "I should tell you, his other friend - that young blond man - he's asleep right now. If you go up, please try not to wake him."

"He's asleep in Matt's room?" Near said. "Has he been doing this often? I didn't notice last time."

"He's barely left the room for a week," the nurse said. "We brought a cot in for him, or he'd still be nodding off in that big visitor's chair. Would you be able to talk him into going home? There's not much use in him staying here."

"Me, talk Mello into -?" Near said, blinking. "I'm sorry, ma'am. My hands are tied here."

He stayed for awhile with Matt, checking every now and then to make sure Mello was still asleep. He looked different, like this, tired and softer and almost human, and Near pitied him, though of course he would never let Mello know that. He'd never had to imagine what it would be like to come so close to losing someone important. He'd never had anyone that important to him. He saw dark circles under Mello's eyes, wondered if he'd turned insomniac, wondered if it was over worry over Matt, or something else.

It was boring being the only conscious one in the room. He didn't stay long, but he made sure that the blanket over Mello wasn't about to fall off any time soon before he left.

-

"Get out," Mello said, tiredly, when Near came back to check once more. He was hunched in the chair beside Matt's bed, arms clasped loosely around his knees, hair falling forward to hide his face.

"I brought flowers," said Near. "There's no colour in this room. I wonder how you can stand to stay all day in such a boring place. Knowing Mello, I would have thought it would have driven you insane long ago."

"Leave them and go," Mello said.

"I also brought chocolates," Near said, and put those on the table beside the flowers. "Those are for you. I've noticed that your supply seems to be sporadic at best."

"You know fucking everything about everyone, don't you?" Mello said spitefully, and didn't touch the box. That was all right. It would be empty the next time he came back, Near knew that.

"I know that it must be hard to sit here every day with no one to talk to or argue with," Near said, and sat on the floor near the foot of Matt's bed, far enough away from Mello that he was likely to be safe. "Mello is a person who needs constant stimulation."

"Hmph," said Mello, but Near knew he was right.

"All Matt does is sleep," Near said. "The doctors are saying that he's reaching the stage where he will either wake up soon, or fall deeper and be in this for the long term - and if it's the latter, they will be searching for someone to consult on whether to - I believe the expression is 'pull the plug'? They're starting to worry about brain damage. If he doesn't wake soon... well, if he does ever wake up, the doctors think he might not be the same person that you remember."

"Fuck the doctors," Mello said savagely. "I wish people would stop treating Matt like he's already dead. It's their fucking fault he's in the coma in the first place, it's their goddamn responsibility to make sure he wakes up, not to say, 'oh, we made a mistake and let him turn into a fucking vegetable, so let's knock him off and pretend it never happened, OK?' He's going to wake up."

"Of course," Near said, quietly. "Believe that if you will."

"It's not believing," Mello snarled. "It's_ knowing_. Fuck you, Near. I should have known you would be like this about it. You don't understand."

"I never thought that you understood the value of human life either," Near said, just as quietly.

"Get the fuck out."

Mello's voice hit absolute zero. Near got to his feet, and left.

-

Mello didn't even try to kick him out the next time Near looked in on them. He looked almost like a patient himself, a heavy suitcase shoved half-heartedly under his cot, the bed unmade, a half-eaten breakfast waiting for someone to take it away. The circles under his eyes were darker. He was starting to look a little like a blond version of L.

As Near had predicted, the chocolates were all long gone; he was willing to bet that Mello hadn't thrown them out, either. The flowers Near had brought were dying by this late point, but they were still the one spot of colour in the room other than Matt's bright auburn hair.

"You don't look very well," Near said, reclaiming his spot on the floor.

Mello didn't answer.

"I don't think you've been sleeping."

Mello stared blankly at him, as though he wasn't exactly seeing him.

"I'm sure I don't understand," Near said finally, politely, "And I know you're worried about Matt. It's been a long time, after all. But speaking objectively, you need to take care of yourself or they're going to need to bring in a second hospital bed. It does Matt no good to have you doing this to yourself over him. Wouldn't he say you're being stupid, if he were awake?"

Silence. Near curled up, listening to the machinery beep, and the minutes crawled past. At last he could not take the silence and the lack of stimulation any longer. He got up and went to leave.

"They can't find any relatives. They want me to pull the plug," Mello said, and his voice sounded dry and dead, cracked like a desert floor. Near stopped, stood in the door, carefully keeping his back to the other.

"And?" Near said finally. _Are you going to?_ he wanted to ask, but that would be too harsh a question to ask, even of someone like Mello, who deserved harshness to a certain degree. Even he knew that would be pushing the limits, because he knew Mello, had studied him for years. Mello was tough, Mello was hard - but a touch in the wrong place would shatter him like a cracked clay pot in a kiln.

"It's my fault he's here to begin with," Mello said hoarsely. "Do I even have the right to make that decision? Just because I am - I was - I am his friend? I lied when I told him he'd be all right. It was just what I wanted to believe. I lied because I'm selfish. I will not lose him, god damn it. He's going to be OK. He's going to wake up and be himself again. I will not lose to death."

"Of course not," Near said quietly. "You haven't yet. I trust you to win that battle once again."

"The doctors said they want your input as well," Mello spat. "If you tell them to pull the plug I will hunt you down wherever you go and make your life a living hell."

"I told you I trusted you to win another battle against death," Near said. "I wasn't going to tell them to end it prematurely."

He left. Mello's wild eyes were scaring him.

-

Mello was holding Matt's hand when Near walked in, sitting on the bed beside him, gripping it tightly in one of his own, talking feverishly to him in a low voice. Near hung back for a moment studying the situation, and listening. Mello was going on about the case, what had happened after the shooting, what had been going on since he'd last woken up, how much time had passed.

Near stood there for several minutes before deciding that Mello was occupied enough not to mind his presence, and shuffled forward to slip into what was normally Mello's chair, cautiously. Mello was acting very oddly, even for him.

"Is he better?" he asked.

"I think I saw him move today," Mello said, and his eyes were blazing. "He might wake up soon. I told you so, didn't I?"

"You did," Near said. "So that's why you're talking?"

"If he can move, maybe he can hear and understand my voice," Mello said, and it almost hurt to hear hope and bewildering rising excitement in his voice again. Near thought he was probably just deluding himself again, but didn't dare say so. "Talk to him. I... I need... I need chocolate, I need to move - I'll be right back."

He bounded out of the room, more energetic than Near had seen him for weeks.

What a change in his old rival, just at the thought that Matt might be getting better. It was amazing to watch how human worry and relief had made him, the cold-eyed ambitious monster with the single-minded dedication of revenge.

It was like he was a kid again, before the scores had mattered, before he'd been _'Mello'_, before life and a overwhelming sense of inferiority had pounded and forged him into the knife-eyed weapon he'd been for years.

...And it was Matt who was responsible. After watching him watching the boy in a coma for weeks on end, he was sure of it.

Considering this thoughtfully, Near momentarily forgot his charge, listening to the not-quite so unnaturally steady pulsing of the heart monitor, as he wondered, dissected, examined, analysed, until the quiet sound of Matt breathing attracted his attention once more.

There was faint colour in Matt's skin now, Near noted; he did look a little more like a person than a wax doll. Perhaps Mello's hope was not so unfounded after all.

Mello had asked him to talk, to see if he would remember and respond to their voices; he supposed it would be a somewhat interesting experiment to try.

Near leaned forward in his chair, speaking softly but clearly. "What were you two before this happened?" he asked. "I've never known Mello to willingly wait for anyone. He's waited a long time for you. What do you mean to him? Do you know? I thought you were friends, after a fashion, working partners more than anything, a team, support, a professional relationship, steady and sure, but Mello changes partners and work faster than I can even think about."

He paused, watching Matt breathe. Had his chest hitched a little? Probably it was his imagination. "I think I might know something about you two. I think he's remembered that he was human, because of you," he said to Matt, speaking his conclusions to the one most concerned. "I think you made him realize that you're more important than revenge. I think I was wrong about you, being expendable and weak, someone who might betray a friend from fear. You got yourself shot for Mello. Did you know that would happen? If you did, you're braver than I would ever have given you credit for. Do you know what a miracle that is, to get Mello to show his humanity? What are you? I think you're something very special, because of that. Do you know why I think that? Because it's clear to me, at least, that Mello loves you, more than he knows, and the thought of losing you almost killed him."

Rattling breath around the breathing tube. Near's eyes widened.

_"I know,"_ came the hoarse, barely audible whisper, and Near stared, shocked, as one gummed-over eye cracked open, just enough for Near to see the lazily tracking eye under the lid. After an agonizingly long moment, it crinkled a little at the corners, the only sign of the slight smile that might otherwise be sneaking across Matt's face.

He caught Mello at the vending machine.

"What the fuck are you doing out here? I said to stay with Matt."

"He spoke," Near said, feeling like an idiot for the first time within living recollection. "I thought you should know."

Mello stared at him, and then took off down the corridor as if all the hounds of hell were after him in the direction of the hospital room.

Near walked slowly after, thinking that perhaps he should give them a moment alone. Just because... it had been a few very long weeks of worry and unhappiness, and Mello would not want anyone catching him being so relieved over some guy coming out of a coma that he'd known all along that he would come out of, just fine. When he finally caught up, Near paused outside the half-closed door, listening.

" - been waiting so long, and the doctors were thinking you would never wake up when it was their fucking fault in the first place, Jesus fuck, man, I'm glad you proved them wrong."

_"I know."_

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for putting you in such danger, I just -"

_"'s OK."_

"You don't understand, when I made it and you almost didn't I wished I'd - well, I wanted to have done something more to keep you safe, and -"

_"Under...stand."_

"Matt - Matt, just - Fuck, it's good to hear your voice. We're gonna get you up on your feet again in no time, all right? I promise. It's my fault you were hurt, but it's not going to be my fault if you have to be in a wheelchair."

_"...know, Mel."_

"You scared the hell out of me," Mello said. "Never get shot again."

_"Promise."_ There was a hint of a crooked smile in that hoarse, breathed word, and Near was relieved in spite of himself. Matt was going to be OK, indeed, if his sense of humour had survived. _"... Mel?"_

"What?" There was almost hysterical joy in Mello's voice. He really did sound like a kid again.

_"... 'm glad... you stayed."_

Mello's voice cracked on the funny noise he made in response, and Near couldn't help but look in at that point. Matt's fingers were slowly curling around Mello's right hand, and Near could see Mello holding on to him, still pale and shaking, like Matt was his lifeline. Maybe, after a fashion, he was.

Near left, quietly. Mello had changed, drastically, but he would be all right now. Things would be all right.

He wasn't needed here any more. He didn't need to hear it to know it.

He didn't really know how he was supposed to feel about that.

-

Months later, Gevanni led a skinny figure in stripes to the edge of Near's Lego labyrinth. He stood there, patiently, until Near looked up, emotionless eyes softening very slightly at the sight of the other. He was mobile, but he needed crutches; his leg was still in a cast. Some of the other bandages had come off, leaving shiny scars like enormous chicken pox to mar the visible skin.

"It was you I heard when I woke up," Matt said quietly.

"Yes," Near said, carefully placing another pair of Lego blocks on the complex construction.

"What you said," he said, finally. "I'm just some guy. Smarter than most, maybe, but still. No one special."

"Halle saw Mello the other day," Near told him, focussed on his building. "She said she almost didn't recognize him, smiling like a normal person. He's changed."

"It's weird," Matt said. "I mean. I'm glad. When he was young, I always loved to see him smile and laugh. It's only that when I met him again... I learned to accept that person as well."

"You changed him," Near said. "I don't know if he told you, but he waited by your bedside every day, talking to you and praying that you would wake up. He all but shot the doctors when they suggested pulling the plug on you, you know."

"He didn't tell me," Matt said, and his smile was odd and shy. "But I saw the suitcase and the cot, before he got rid of them. And I asked the nurses."

"He refused to give up on you," Near said. "I told you. With the Kira case over, and his battle to be indispensable to something, he had to transfer his passions somewhere. You held some of them already, I supposed. Now you hold the majority of them on you. You should be pleased."

"I am," Matt said quietly. "Mello has always been important in my eyes, at least."

Silence. Near continued building, uncertain for once whether the conversation was over or not.

"I came to... thank you, for telling me what you did, when you did," Matt said at last. "And for not arresting us. Regardless of what use we were in the end, we kind of did a lot of illegal shit and you would have been perfectly within your rights to arrest us. So. Thank you."

"You're going by different names now, I noticed," Near said.

"Yes."

"What are your plans?"

"If I told you, Mello would be pissed," Matt said with a wry chuckle. "Rest assured we won't be intruding on your territory, though. We'll be out of Tokyo shortly, that much I can say."

"Very well," Near said. "I suppose that's no more than I expected."

"Then I'll be on my way," Matt said after a long moment, watching Near continue building, apparently unperturbed.

"Farewell," Near said, and Matt grinned, wry and half-friendly, and swung away on his crutches.

Near never saw him or Mello again.

He told himself he was all right with that, but he was never sure that it really was true.

-


End file.
